


The Okami's Tale

by staringatstars



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Okami Hanzo Shimada, Wolf!Hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: The villagers hear wolf cries at night, lost and forlorn.They know there are no wolves in the forest.





	The Okami's Tale

A strange keening spilled from the wolf’s throat at the death of the sparrow. 

Cautiously, it padded over the mossy forest floor and protruding tree roots to press its muzzle against the frighteningly still form, that plaintive whine still undulating from its chest, and nudged the sparrow’s speckled breast. Where the wolf’s nose brushed the feathers shifted out of place, ruining the illusion that the sparrow was only sleeping.

Rot had not begun to set in, the clouds forming to dull its sightless gaze were only beginning to gather. A fresh kill, abandoned, would be a free and fortunate meal for the packless wolf, but while the hunger gnawing on its insides had been nigh unbearable, driving it from its den to hunt, what existed beneath its bones now was empty space, a hollowness that nothing could fill.

It would be cruel to throw the fallen sparrow into such a place, and while the beast was capable of cruelty, it had not the will to act on it. Dew clinging to its fur, it remained with its head lowered, its muzzle resting so close to the sparrow that downy feathers grew increasingly ruffled by the warm exhalations washing over them, as the wolf waited for a heartbeat. Its actions were driven by a need it couldn’t understand, and lacked the ability to question, but there came a time when the wolf was forced to accept that the fallen sparrow would not fly again. 

With its pointed ears laid flat against its skull, the wolf at last raised its head, and turned away from the corpse, intent on finding a meal elsewhere, though a stray urge halted it, and before long, it had returned. 

This wolf had never before seen others of its kind. It did not know how to behave in a normal way, and thus had no understanding of what was abnormal. What it did know was that a body left alone would be ravaged by scavengers and other predators. While there was no keeping the invisible from breaking the little bird down into food for the forest, the wolf sought to preserve its remains from other fanged, clawed creatures. It scraped its paws against the ground, tearing up clumps of moss and mold, before reaching the wet dirt, where it dug a shallow hole. After deeming it sufficient, the sparrow was gingerly placed within, then covered with a blanket of dried leaves and soil. 

Afterwards, the white wolf departed, its pale, ethereal form melting away to join the swirling fog.

 

Reason returned slowly after a deep sleep. 

The wolf’s dreams, when they came, were often strange. Often, the world seemed so much smaller. It was crowded, filled with raised voices and overwhelming to the senses, but there were times when the scenes were impressionistic paintings, filled with a floral scent or a familiar sound, would set off an ache within the creature that lasted well into wakefulness, even chasing it into sleep. 

This time, the wolf awoke with a jolt, the lingering taste of bitter blood on its tongue, with feathertips brushing its ribs and a beak piercing its heart. 

Shaking itself to cast off the remnants of the night, the canine stretched its forelegs and hind legs, working out the stiffness as best it could to prepare for when it was time to continue the on-going hunt. A soft trilling brought the wolf scrambling clumsily to stand at attention, its ears perking to discern the source of the sound. 

Claws scraped and scratched at stone, leaving jagged white markings in the cave’s floor in the wolf’s haste. It darted out, skidding slightly on the smooth rock, before stopping short when its paws reached the cool soil, digging in for purchase, and on the branch of a gnarled, barren tree, flitting from side to side, was a young sparrow with a speckled breast, and long, slender flight feathers the color of bark and lichen.

The bird’s gaze settled on the wolf with a superficial fascination. It had never seen an animal like it in the forest before. The bird did not know what it was, did not recognize a predator in its snow-white form. 

Seeing this, the wolf felt suddenly as though it was falling on the inside. 

_You are small._ The canine thought at the sparrow, already stepping towards the cave. 

_Loud._

The sparrow’s head tilted with a single chirp. 

_Not same._

It didn’t expect the sparrow to hop along after it, entering its den without hesitation or any sign of self-preservation. Though the wolf growled, it didn’t seem to mind, and merely continued exploring the cracks in the walls, peeking in and out, as though it were trying to get its beak stuck in the stone. Amused despite itself, the canine flopped onto the cave floor, crossed its forelegs, and watched the little bird dart in and out of the shadows reaching from the cave’s depths. 

The wolf expected it would leave when it grew bored, and it did leave. For a time. Often returning with worms and crickets to swallow down its gullet. It seemed to the wolf that a creature so small shouldn’t eat so much, but learned it was better not to stare when the sparrow began fetching meals that crawled for it, as well. 

Unfortunately, tastes aside, the wolf simply couldn’t sustain itself on a diet of insects. It decided to try hunting again. Rising on quivering legs, it strode out of its shelter with its great head held high, its brilliant blue gaze imperious and searching, even as rainfall began dampening its coat, making it cling to the wolf’s skin, heavy and flat. 

Though it protested vehemently, chattering as though the wolf had walked into the rain simply to spite it, the sparrow inevitably followed. They wandered through the forest, the sparrow keeping mostly dry as it made certain to keep to the low-hanging, sheltered branches. Soaked to the bone, the wolf cast it an arch glance, _You could have stayed behind,_ huffing low at the indignant chattering that followed. 

They came across a shoe in their wandering, hidden beneath a thick root and obscured by detris. A melodious ribbit caught the wolf’s attention, and the canine watched dumbly as a brightly colored frog poked its head out from the sneaker.

Swooping in to join them, the sparrow chittered with delight at this latest development. Sure, the amphibian was a smidge bigger than its standard fare, but it would make due. Of course, there was one other reason for its elation at the surplus, though the wolf had no way of knowing that. 

The electric green frog flexed its toes experimentally, crawling forward to regard the greedy little bird with more trepidation, while the wolf went ignored. This went over about as well as could be expected, and the wolf rumbled its discontent while the sparrow bounced smugly.

Irritated, the wolf pretended to snap at the bird, causing the frog to duck for cover while the sparrow danced effortlessly out of range. 

Clenching its jaw to choke a sigh, the wolf glanced once more at the abandoned shoe. It was overgrown with moss, forgotten for so long that even the scent of its previous owner had faded. The second of its pair must have been taken and displaced.

It wasn’t the first article of clothing the wolf had spotted in the forest. There were coats hanging from trees, backpacks left to the elements. At first, the wolf had assumed that the owners would soon return to retrieve the items, but even now, the items remained. Thriving in the shadow of a mountain, the surrounding trees were bowed, as though in mourning, the air heavy with something foul. Fear spiked within the beast, a sense of foreboding that heightened when a breeze passing through the boughs overhead caused the leaves to rustle and shift, resulting in a sound like human whispers trickling down. 

Incognizant of the sparrow, the frog, the incessant pitter-patter of the rain, the wolf moved with slow, plodding steps to return to its den. It didn’t take long for the brazen sparrow to find a perch in its mane, or for the wolf to spot a splash of bright green leaping through the sodden boughs. 

By the time the trio – _how did this keep happening?_ – returned to the den, there was already a pair of new tenants. Huddled inside, a rabbit pup shivered with chill while their squirrel companion attempted to warm the pup by wrapping itself bonelessly around them. Its fluffy tail curled around the child, the squirrel hissed at the wolf’s entrance, as though it were the one intruding and not the other way around. 

But the wolf was too tired to fight. Instead, it chose to collapse to the ground in a rather undignified manner, barely even acknowledging the shaking pup and their fierce guardian. 

A series of high chirping and short clicks and chitters echoed off the cave’s walls, the sounds amplified until the rapid-fire debate could be heard over the now pouring rain. The sparrow must have made a convincing argument for the canine’s trustworthiness (or chronic lack of appetite), because not long after the great pale wolf had allowed its heavy lids to fall closed over dull gray-blue eyes, a warm body snuggled beneath its breast, followed by another, and it grumbled, feeling the pair grow stiff at the sound, but made no further complaint. A light weight landed on its back, and somewhere in the huddle, the frog found a place, as well. 

It was strangely nice. 

The wolf hadn’t realized how very large its den was until other bodies had arrived to fill it.

 

Intestines twisted like eels in the wolf’s stomach, sending shocks of pain racing up its chest, yet the white wolf never so much as lifted its head. 

It was too tired. 

It hurt too much. 

Hours after the rain had stopped and the wolf still hadn’t risen. 

Edging closer, the rabbit gave the wolf an experimental nip, the squirrel swatted the giant canine with its tail. They scrambled backwards, afraid, but instead of rising, the wolf merely regarded them with a single blue eye, huffed, then settled back into its dreadful lethargy.

The sparrow trilled in the wolf’s ears, pecked at its mane, clawed and nipped and shrieked and tugged. 

Nothing worked. 

In their own ways, they pleaded with the wolf to rise, to wake, to stand, to feed, but the wolf could not understand their cries, for it had never truly been a wolf. 

It was not until a young man came walking through the forest, full of life and hope and not lost but searching, that the wolf showed signs of life again. When the young man approached the cave, purposefully, as though drawn to it, it was to find a great white wolf staring up at him from within a circle of nuts and berries and grasses. When the young man reached for the wolf, however, a baby rabbit darted in front, and then a squirrel, and a creeping tree frog, and last of all – to the man’s silent amusement – a sparrow perched directly on the wolf’s nose. 

A quiet growl was aimed at the group, urging them back, though none of the animals paid the wolf any heed, and the man chuckled, before speaking words that the wolf couldn’t make sense of. 

The animals watched the man reach into a satchel at his side, wary, but instead of a weapon, he pulled out by its tail a large salmon, and offered it to the wolf while speaking in a kind gentle tone that eventually coaxed the canine into lifting its heavy head. And when glazed blue eyes met earnest, warm brown, an inexplicable trust possessed the wolf. 

It devoured the salmon with a ravenous appetite, lapped up water from the man’s canteen until its mouth no longer tasted of dust and sand, and by the end of it, once more found the strength to stand. 

The white wolf appeared proud but for a moment, as the rabbit pup clung to his fur, the squirrel clambered up its hind leg, the frog held on to its traitorously wagging tail for deal life, and the sparrow landed on its brow, having apparently appointed itself a place of honor among the rabble.

And this time, when Genji said, “Let’s go home,” as he reached out to place a tentative hand on the wolf’s muzzle, the wolf stretched, chasing the remaining distance to bump its nose against his palm. 

There was no more reason to linger in a forest for the lost and dreaming. 

It was time for the wolf to wake.

**Author's Note:**

> By now, you've probably guessed what forest this is. If you're unfamilar, though, it's a place in Japan called Aokigahara, or Suicide Forest. I chose it because, well, if you look up pictures, it doesn't quite look like a place of this world. 
> 
> If you got to the end and exclaimed, "Finally!" then I'd like you to know my beta did the exact same thing. I haven't had much practice writing from an animal POV, so any constructive criticism would be welcome. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and have a great day!


End file.
